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Twenty-Four
Finn
When Conor sentme a video link, I knew my lies were coming to a head.
I was sitting at my desk when I received the email.
For a second, I ignored it because I received a thousand emails a day that needed my attention and I was in the middle of reading some R&D reports that were quite interesting, but Conor never emailed—he texted or called.
So when I saw his email address in my inbox, surprise and curiosity had me opening the link.
The second I saw where he was and what he was doing, I closed the site, ran the program on my computer that shredded anything that could be construed as evidence if the Feds ever decided to confiscate my hard drive, and as it ran, grabbed my phone and AirPods.
Tucking them in, I moved away from the windows and toward the corner of my office where there were no cameras.
My back to the wall so no one could peer over my shoulders, I tucked the earphones into my ears and opened the link on my phone.
Michael was on the table. Lena’s favorite guard. I knew he was sick, but he clearly wasn’t in any hospital I’d like to be treated in.
Grunge and grime laced every surface, and Michael was strapped down to the worst of it—a wooden board that had more stains on it than an artist’s palette.
Conor didn’t often get his hands wet, and we all knew why.
His creativity was beyond disturbing.
A buzz of electricity made the hairs at the back of my neck stand up.
Michael yelped then sobbed, “NO MORE! Please. No more.”
“Then start talking. I don’t have all day.”
Michael’s sobs turned into sniffles. “Michelle Keegan’s death wasn’t an accident.”
Tension clutched at my spine.
“Ma told me that you were the one who informed her Michelle Keegan was my father’s mistress. Is that right?”
He groaned in pain. “Y-Yes.”
“Why? Why would you do that?” Conor huffed. “And don’t tell me that bullshit about you cozying up to the Old Wives' Club. I spoke with them. Nobody had ever even heard a whisper of my father and Michelle Keegan together.
“You fed my mother that poison.Why?”
The buzz of electricity soared through the air. As Michael screamed, Conor’s voice was indefatigable, untiring: “Why?”
“BECAUSE I NEEDED TO HAVE SOMETHING ON HER!” he screeched hoarsely.
“You wanted to blackmail her?”
“Y-Yes.” He sobbed. “Let me die. Just let me die!”
“Why would I do that when you still have answers for me?”
“I don’t, I don’t!”
“Liar,” Conor grated out. “Why did you want to blackmail my mother?”
“B-Because Eamonn had gone soft,” he groaned. “We’ve been quiet, too quiet. With Britain leaving the EU, now’s our chance to gain our freedom. I needed a way to tip the scales in our favor, and your father gave us that.”
